Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Spite, artist - Emilio Rojas. Date of issue: 18.04.2019
Age restrictions: 18+
Song language: English
Spite |
| Young Venezuelan, first generation |
| Mami a New Yorker, my papi immigrated |
| I know ‘bout survival dog, I’m not intimidated |
| I don’t bow to anybody, I ain’t kneelin' when I’m prayin' |
| Nah, hunger pangs that give me stress and aches |
| So I cut some people off to give my blessings space |
| How you gon' get an answer when you question fate? |
| From now on, I’m bein' petty, I’m gon' mention names |
| Listen, I’ve seen the Louvre, I’ve seen the City Opera |
| I’ve been driven through the jungles, I went through Caracas |
| I paid a bribe to get my watches back from dirty coppers |
| In the Venezuelan slums and policia run around with dirty choppers |
| Don’t fuck with Hugo Chavez, we don’t fuck with Hugo Boss |
| Run around in Jordan ones ‘cause I’m too hood for Louboutins |
| I don’t get attached, nah, I’m too good at movin' on |
| I don’t trust a soul man, I pull out with a condom on |
| I seen my homies get caught up with different vices |
| You a vic, come to my hood and we quote you different prices, right? |
| I got angels and demons inside of my clique |
| And I could fuck your dream girl and treat her like my side chick |
| I’m a little Drake, a little Pun, I define all ya all-stars on TDE |
| Mixed into one, I stand my ground, now I don’t ever run |
| If I start it, I’mma finish it, I get it done |
| Yeah, I said I get it done, get it with no help at all |
| Yeah, I almost died out on that flight out to L.A., ain’t get one fuckin' call |
| All of y’all were callin' me fam but where the fuck were y’all |
| I won’t let you suck me dry, you could suck my fuckin' balls |
| Nothing preventin' me from living, nah |
| Yeah, I cheated death like y’all was cheatin' on your women, nah |
| Yeah, every breath I take remindin' me being here a privilege |
| When I say I want that foreign, I don’t mean no Honda Civic |
| I got bitches I ain’t textin' back, businesses is sendin' packs of weed a day |
| I ain’t even smokin' ‘cause they hopin' I’mma rep they brand |
| Homies doin' time for P’s, don’t never get them seconds back |
| I done came up different, where I from, you earn respect |
| There ain’t no handouts, all them cats is rep a flag or rep a gang |
| All these kids is out on Instagram, lettin' they weapons bang |
| But I’m not the type to see that bullshit and be entertained |
| I’ve been swimmin' with them sharks, you just surfin' every wave |
| Hoes is in my section but I’m textin' when they’re sippin' |
| 'Cause I’m focused on that money that I’m gettin', ‘bout my business |
| I’m careful with my bread and with my time and how I invest |
| So you ain’t talkin' ‘bout interest rates, then I don’t got no interest, nah |
| My taste expensive, I’ve got dough to make |
| I need another car, I’m tryna own a fuckin' motorcade |
| Listen, I got Suvi, I got Prada, I got golden chains |
| I got thirty thousand dollars' worth of tattoos on my shoulder blades |
| And I pull up in the Roc and I’m like royalty |
| You lookin' at my bank account, I’m lookin' at your loyalty |
| ‘Cause now I need them fearin' me, fuck if they’re respectin' me |
| I don’t give a damn about one check, nah, I want equity |
| And pretty women bat they eyes but only fuck and never satisfy |
| I just want a bag that I can give my kids when daddy dies |
| Nowadays I lie awake at night and I just strategize |
| How you gonna manage money? |
| You can’t even manage time |
| I done been in phantoms, I done been in Raris |
| I been audited ‘cause I paid only cash when I bought all these |
| I done broken hearts of vixen bitches, everybody want it |
| ‘Cause I rather say goodbye and keep it movin' than say sorry, nah |
| You know you poppin' when they plottin' on your spot |
| Jaws droppin' when that valet pull that car back on the lot |
| Yeah, now I’m in the gym since I recovered from that clot |
| That almost killed me and cats is reachin' out like I forgot |
| I got my weight up, now I don’t got no patience, ain’t no wait up |
| Can’t underrate me, don’t respect them people that gon' rate us |
| Give a fuck about the critics, I’m just worried ‘bout this paper |
| When I get it, best believe I’m gon' change up, yeah |
| I’m gon' change my fuckin' number, I’m gon' change my home address |
| I’m gon' change my email and my bank to private client man, I’m gon' invest |
| And if the cats that I’m around ain’t even grow one bit |
| I’m gon' change my closest friends with no regrets |